


Factio Dei

by Rhaella



Category: Golden Sun
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-11
Updated: 2006-10-11
Packaged: 2017-10-21 15:02:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhaella/pseuds/Rhaella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Introspection, aka why Alex is wonderful in a pseudo-Nietzschean light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Factio Dei

The world is dying.  Well, then.  So am I.

My death will be slower than this catastrophic apocalypse we now seek to stop, but it will be no less inevitable.  No less final.  Whether I were to fall in battle tomorrow (ridiculous: I have not yet met an opponent who could challenge me), contract any number of diseases not even the water of Hermes at the fountain in Imil can cure, or finally succumb to time itself, the result would be the same.

And what, then, in the face of death, is life?

Pointless.  Meaningless.

I will not surround myself with friends to block out the truth of the situation.  I cannot even see the merit of such an endeavour; personal connections are hardly permanent.  If one does not cut them oneself, time itself will inevitably perform the act.  The loss of another is unavoidable, and once broken, how can these connections do aught but remind one of the transient nature of life itself?  I have never been fond of suffering; I shall not cherish what I cannot keep.

Shall I fill up the emptiness of my existence by creating gods for myself?  I have no talent for self-deception.  If I have need of a god in which to believe, I shall become one.

The world has offered me no solution to this problem, but why should I have expected otherwise?  The world makes no promises save one.  There is no intrinsic fairness or rightness in existence, and no reason in return to be either fair or righteous.  I shall have to find a cure to this condition myself, and if the means to do so exist, why should I not take them?

Curing Weyard of its creeping death is no uncomplicated and safe matter, but we have and shall continue to risk what we must to do so, including, ironically, Weyard itself.  On top of this, gaining the power to cure myself is a simple thing, and risks none but myself.  Opportunity does not await those too meek to pursue it.  Alchemy.  Golden Sun.  Why should I not attempt both?

Starved for alchemy, the world devours itself.  All too soon my body shall begin to do so as well.

And yet how often have I been told that it right to save one, but not the other.  We may recover alchemy and risk chaos to delay the demise of our world and civilizations, but to go that extra step further and forever halt the slow wearing away that is mortality?  Forbidden.  Unthinkable.

If this is the twisted morality of Weyard, a change is necessary.

I am change.  Except soon I shall never be obliged to change again.  Timeless.  Immutable.

Time.  It has always been the greatest enemy of humanity.  Time alone renders everything naught.  No matter how much one can accomplish, in the end nothing at all shall remain.  The greatest, most advanced civilization shall eventually crumble before it.  Perhaps some poet would see some perverse beauty in this.  I do not.  Still, I imagine one would claim that such is the proper order of the world, and that to challenge it is the height of impropriety.

I would give challenge, if the world would deign to hear.  I have never been satisfied with this concept of the proper order.  What is the “proper order” other than everything that has been done and seen before?  Why should I rely upon the sensibilities of others to plan my own destiny?  Am I so afraid of change and novelty that I would refuse to test the need for such restrictions?  I am not.

I am hardly ignorant of that which I seek to do.  Men less creative and daring would maintain that immortality is not a realistic desire.  Death is not always some horror to be feared; given enough time, it would become welcome to any mortal.  Only one who has known death only as some abstract concept, they say, would hate it unconditionally.

Death has never been a stranger to me.  Growing up in Imil, constantly plagued by illness, how could it be otherwise?  I am a healer, not a god.  Not yet.  I have failed to save patients, and it never becomes a welcome occurrence.  For a Mercury Adept, one whose greatest abilities lies in healing, death is always the closest and bitterest of companions.  To be able to accept death and view it as more than something to be fought and defeated, I have been taught, is the hardest and most precious lesson for a Mercury Adept.

This may be so; it is certainly the only lesson I have not mastered.

To learn that the earth itself was dying, starved for alchemy, was not, therefore, as much of a shock as it might have been.  Often had I looked upon the Mercury Lighthouse and dreamt of the nigh forgotten Age of Alchemy.  What wonders humanity had been capable of during that time; in my mind I could see again the glory of the civilizations of the past, civilizations in comparison to which mine became the height of barbarism.  The decrepit Lighthouse would sometimes taunt me with visions of former grandeur: how far have we fallen?

Ah, yes.  The wise men of the past, brave enough to seal away alchemy.  What wisdom they demonstrated with their choice: kill a man to cure his disease.  To lock away a power you cannot trust yourself to use is to block out the light of the sun so that you need not fear to look upon it.

I have never feared gazing at the sun.  Mia used to worry that I would burn my sight away.  But she need not have concerned herself; I am far from blind.

Alchemy shall be returned, as is proper.  Mankind must be permitted to choose his own destiny.  This is our age, and what we make of it is our choice.  There is no power that defines what it is to be human, that limits our potential.  We shall not be ruled by men dead for millennia, so frightened by their own shadows that they would hide themselves in the darkness to escape.

And when alchemy is returned, Golden Sun shall be as well.  If I were not to obtain it, someone else may.  Or at the very least, another will seize the opportunity that the release of alchemy offers and set himself in a position of power.  Such is inevitable: kings and gods make themselves.

I shall be ruled by no one.


End file.
